Growing Up Thunderbirds
by Princess Tyler Briefs
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the boys as they grew into the men who would shoulder the burden of International Rescue. Various view points and themes, mostly fluff.
1. Water

**A/N:** Hi there everyone! This is a collection of completely random one-shots about the Thunderbirds boys when they were still, well, little boys. All of the chapter titles are prompts I assigned myself from a random word generator, but if you have suggestions I'm willing to take them. All chapters will be dated for your convince, but will not be written in any semblance of an order. Enjoy, everyone!

_**Growing up Thunderbirds  
By: Reggie**_

_Water_

_July 22__nd__, 2053_

"The informality of family life is a blessed condition that allows us to become our best while looking our worst." ~Marge Kennedy

"It's your move, Virg."

Scott was grinning at the younger Tracy, and it took all Virgil had not to send his eldest brother a scowl for that gleeful tone of his. The small hand-carved chess pieces weren't helping either, as the sheer number of Scott's black to his white was in itself a mockery. John always said that the reason Scott always beat him so easily was because Virgil didn't have the patience to plan ahead, but who could with all this pressure on them anyway?

Besides, he didn't even really like chess, and liked being cooped up inside on such a beautiful day even less. It was warm and sunny, the normally oppressive Kansas heat having eased off somewhat so that a person could actually want to do something without thinking they were going to melt. It was the perfect kind of day for summer vacation at Grandma and Grandpa's farm.

Given the option of what he would rather be doing, Virgil would have preferred to take the new pencils his Grandmother had bought him yesterday and gone out to the fields behind the house to sketch the new colt that was there with his mother. Instead he was stuck here, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in front of their grandfather's antique chess table, all because Scott had said he was chicken if he didn't play.

And Virgil Grissom Tracy was no chicken.

He was just losing terribly, which wasn't something he exactly enjoyed either. What would help him most right now was a distraction from one of his brothers, but the chances of that happening weren't very good. The only other person home at the moment was John, as Gordon and Alan had gone to the grocery store with their Grandparents, and since he had a new book he was not very likely to get his hoped for distraction. Nothing could save him from his inevitable loss.

Nothing, it turned out, except for a yelp and something that was quite distinctly a splash from somewhere on the second floor. It had to be John, but Virgil couldn't remember a time in his life when his blond elder brother had made that much noise.

Scott frowned for a moment in obvious confusion before he bolted to the stairs, and Virgil paused only long enough to rearrange a few pieces before following. With any luck, Scott wouldn't notice.

At Grandma's house, like at home, Scott and Virgil shared a room next to the bathroom and John had his own room in the attic. But John wasn't in their room, and the door to the attic stairs was firmly closed. In fact, the odd splashing was coming from the room that Gordon and Alan shared across from their grandparents.

The mystery of what, exactly, was causing the noise was solved the moment the two brothers peered around the doorway. Somehow, in a way that Virgil was instantly sure he would never know and did not want to, the spot where Gordon's bed had once been beside the door now had a round shallow plastic blue pool. It was very much like a toddler wading pool, in fact, but slightly taller. Just tall enough that John couldn't get his feet on the ground from where he had apparently fallen in.

For his part, John looked just as confused to be where he was as his brothers were to see him there. He was drenched head to toe, jeans and navy blue t-shirt clinging to him from where he sat in the water, trying to push himself up on his hands but not able to keep his hands from slipping on the bottom long enough to actually get up.

From here, it was easy for Virgil to see what Gordon had been going for and appreciate the effort it must have taken. Gordon's end goal had rather obviously been his own water park in his room. He'd tipped his mattress on top of Alan's, and a yellow slip and slide ran the length of it into the pool John had fallen into. From the door hung a bucket that had obviously tipped once John opened it, as the carpet all around was sopping wet. The final piece was the hose and sprinkler attachment hanging in the window, and no matter which way he twisted his head Virgil just couldn't figure out how it had gotten to the second story without any of them noticing.

He could also see, however, why the beautiful simplicity of Gordon's design would be lost on John. After all, it is difficult to see much of anything with hair hanging in your eyes.

"If Grandma sees this, even Gordon's pouting won't save him," Scott muttered under his breath, and Virgil didn't quite manage to stop his snort of laughter.

"Will someone please," John coughed midsentence, taking a moment to get the water from his mouth, "get me out of here?"

Virgil now found himself helpless to stop his laughter, as John reminded him a little of a half-drowned seal pup, and his elder brother's useless splashing wasn't helping the image any.

There was a good smack delivered to the side of Virgil's head, courtesy of Scott, before the eldest Tracy dropped to his knees to offer their flailing brother a hand. "You okay, Johnny?"

"I lost my book."

Not a response acceptable from most people, but then this was John. He was never okay when there was no book in his hand.

Something grey and white was floating in the pool, and Virgil stooped to fish it out. 'The Anatomy of Constellations', read the title, and a few of the waterlogged pages fell out as Virgil lifted it to safety. "I found it. Mostly."

If he didn't know better, Virgil would have sworn he heard John whimper, but surely his hearing must have deceived him. No self respecting Tracy would ever make a noise like that.

By this time, Scott had managed to haul John to his feet and gave the slighter boy a few firm pats on the back, as if to reassure himself that John was alright. It must have worked, because he broke into a teasing grin. "Didn't see this one coming, did ya?"

"Well did you?" John raised a hand to remove sodden bangs, and reveal the full brunt of his scowl. "It's not every day a water park springs up in your little brother's bedroom."

"Touché."

Reaching out tentatively, John took the book from Virgil's hand, and watched with mournful eyes as a few more pages fell into the water. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you'll let me kill him."

"If we just leave this here, you might not need Scott's permission, 'because Grandma will do it for you," Virgil grinned, his amusement at the whole affair settling down to a more reasonable level. After all, John's threats to harm anyone had to be taken semi-seriously, as they didn't happen all that often.

"What were you doing in here anyway, Johnny?" Scott tilted his head, short dark bangs falling across his forehead as he did so. "You know Gordon and Allie are out."

"Well," and John shifted uncomfortably, suddenly looking so embarrassed that it was all Virgil could do not to laugh at him again. Sometimes, even Virgil found it to believe that John was his older brother because, at times like this, he could look just so young with that sheepish look on his face. "Gordon and Alan stole my star charts yesterday. I still haven't found them. So…I thought I would hold Fishie hostage until I got it back."

"Fishie," Scott dead-panned, and Virgil found himself automatically looking for the small yellow squeaky toy that Gordon absolutely could not sleep without. He was sitting quite harmlessly at the top of the slide, where Gordon had no doubt left him in anticipation of actually using his strange amusement park.

John simply hung his head in response, already looking so remorseful that Virgil wished he could rewind time just to see if John would actually be capable of taking the thing. Both John and Virgil jumped when Scott burst out laughing. It wasn't just a mild chuckle either, but a full out laugh that had their oldest brother nearly doubled over and using one hand to support himself on the doorway so he wouldn't go toppling into the pool.

After a few minutes, Scott righted himself and began to wipe away the tears of mirth that had accumulated in his eyes. "Johnny, that is absolutely devious. Maybe I should be a bit more wary of borrowing your things from now on, huh?"

A helpless shrug from John earned his still dripping hair an affection ruffling from Scott, who then turned to face the room with hands on his hips. "Well. I say that, as punishment for cheating, its Virgil that has to clean up this mess."

"Hey!"


	2. Mistake

**A/N:** So glad you guys enjoyed the last one. I promise I'm going to try and make not all of these Scott and John centric. Just…you know, most of them.

_**Growing up Thunderbirds**_

_Mistake_

_September 2__nd__, 2058_

* * *

"You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them." ~Desmond Tutu

* * *

Walking home in only his boxers was not at all how John had intended on spending his Saturday night. He'd told his father he was going to study with friends, and when he'd said it it had been the truth. What he hadn't been aware of was that his friends hadn't been planning on that at all. Their intention had been a party, with lots of people John didn't know, and, apparently, alcohol.

Krista had told him it was juice when she handed him the cup full of green liquid. And when he'd asked her about the burning, she said it was a special blend for athletes. After about three cups, when his head had started swimming, he'd realized she was lying to him. Though he'd never experienced it before, John simply knew that he was very much drunk.

Not knowing what else to do with himself, but instantly horrified and knowing that his father was going to tear him a new one, John had retreated from the vivacious crowd to one of the silent bedrooms upstairs. That's where Krista, a girl he'd been friends with for several years, had found him. She had seemed sympathetic and claimed she didn't know.

About the time she started kissing his neck; John started to think she did know. Once his shirt had been removed, there was the vague inkling through the haze of pleasure that she may have even had this in mind all along. About the time she undid his pants John realized that he wasn't at all drunk enough to think that this was a good idea. In fact, he didn't even want to do this at all because while Krista was a very attractive girl she wasn't what he really wanted. Not like this.

So, John defaulted to his usual mode of dealing with overwhelming problems. He fled, scrambling out of his pants when Krista wouldn't release him, muttering apologies repeatedly, and then raced out the door, with several of the other kids from school laughing at his state.

This was, John admitted to himself as he stopped to get yet another rock out of the heel of his foot, the most humiliating moment of his life. Several cars had honked at him as they drove by, but that was getting rarer the later it got. He could only hope that the dark blue boxers he had on could be mistaken for shorts and would be enough to keep him from being arrested for indecent exposure. That's all he would need to top off the night.

Now only half a block from home, John slowed down to nearly baby steps. He could see the living room light on from here, which meant that his father was up. That would lead to questions, and John just didn't have the energy to deal with those at the moment. His head still felt fuzzy and he knew there would be no defense from his father's rage. He would claim that John being as smart as he was should have known better, and even if Jeff might be right about that it didn't change anything and…and he just couldn't think right now from this fog his brain was in.

Frowning, John looked the house up and down. Normally the only door left open was the front, and there was no way he could sneak passed his father if he went that way. But, John had his own room in the attic of the house, and he could say with ninety percent confidence that he'd left his window open. There was a tree that grew at the side of their three story house, and John had used it on more than one occasion to climb up onto the roof with a blanket and just lie there. Surely he could use it to get to his room from the ground?

Frowning ever so slightly, John made a lunge for one of the lower branches. He missed rather splendidly, toppling onto his face into the grass. Spitting out the mouthful of dirt and grass this earned him, John managed to stumble to his feet for another go. He collided with the trunk once, but managed to get a hand around one of the lower branches after three more tries. Years of training his muscles through gymnastics took over, and John managed to haul himself up to sit on the branch.

'This,' John thought smugly to himself, 'is going to be simple.'

Unfortunately, fate apparently decided it was not meant to be. John had only managed to drag himself up to the level of Gordon and Alan's window on the second story when his luck ran out, and the branch he'd been balanced on snapped. With a startled cry, the second eldest Tracy fell crashing through the branches, his slowed reflexes not allowing him to catch himself. He landed rather ungracefully on the ground, and toppled over when his left ankle gave out. The alcohol induced haze dulled the pain, but John held no illusions that it was anything other than broken or sprained from the odd angle that he had landed on it.

He had only just managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees when the front porch light clicked on and John heard the front door open. He winced to himself, trying to gather his mental forces for the incoming scolding. 'I am never going to see the outdoors again.'

"John?"

The seventeen-year-old jerked his head up, startled by the voice. It wasn't his father at all, but eldest brother striding toward him across the darkened lawn. Deciding he must be hallucinating, John shook his head and blinked rapidly. This made him slightly woozy, but didn't dispel the brother now leaning over him. "Scotty? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Spaceman, it's me. I thought I'd surprise everyone and come home for the weekend." Gentle hands helped John in sitting up as his elder brother stared at him in concern. "But enough about me. What on earth happened to you?"

Only under Scott's careful gaze did John realize what a state he must be in. Not only was he dressed only in his dark boxers, but his feet were cut from the long walk home. Add grass stains, scratches to his face and most of his limbs from his recent run in with the tree, and his bruised and rapidly swollen ankle; well, there might be some justification to the obvious worry on Scott's face. Sooner or later he'd smell the alcohol, and then John knew he was really in trouble.

"Come on, Johnny, let's get you inside." John felt one his arms being looped around his older brother's neck as he was half-dragged, half-carried into the house. He heard Scott sniff once, and they briefly stopped, but not another word was said until Scott had John deposited safely on the couch and went to fetch the first aid kit.

John watched sleepily as Scott sat down and began lightly prodding his ankle. "That hurt?"

"A bit." Actually, it probably hurt a lot, but John was too weary to really tell. "I think I sprained it."

"Lucky you didn't break it." Scott sighed, standing and walking across the room and around the corner to the kitchen. John heard him rummaging around and then his eldest brother returned with an ice pack in hand. "Put your foot up. We need to keep the swelling down."

"Scott," John couldn't stop the hesitation in his voice, mentally scolding himself for sounding like a child. "Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know what I am, at the moment." Scott dropped the ice pack on John's ankle before running a hand through his hair and staring hard at his little brother. "Confused and disappointed, I guess."

John winced, his stomach sinking. He honestly would have preferred Scott being angry with him. When he disappointed someone, John knew he had let them down and he hated doing that more than anything else. To his surprise and horror, tears sprang to his eyes and John blinked rapidly to try and clear them. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. She said it was juice. I didn't know, Scott, I swear I didn't. She was my friend; I didn't think to question her."

"Hey, take it easy there." Scott sat down on the edge of the couch, running a hand over John's head. "What happened, Johnny? You can tell me, it's alright."

The whole story fell out of John's mouth. All about being tricked, about the kids laughing at him, the humiliating walk home. By the time he was done John found himself nearly in tears, and he made a mental note between sniffles to never drink again because this was not fun at all. Scott, for his part, had deepened his frown with every sentence from John's mouth, and was now sitting in a rather angry silence.

"I do believe," Scott finally said slowly, "that you were used, Johnny."

John nodded woefully. He wasn't sure he was ever going to really forgive Krista for it either, although she probably expected him to. John was very aware that he had a reputation for being a bit wishy-washy, but this was one thing he knew he wouldn't be able to stand.

"On the plus side," Scott continued, a sort of smirk on his face that seemed more angry than anything, "At least we know one thing. You're not as bad with girls as you always say you are."

"Scott," John reached out to tentatively touch his older brother's arm, and Scott rather visibly jumped.

The smirk transformed into a more genuine smile, and Scott reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a wrap. He glanced at John out of the corner of his eye with some amusement. "You do know that they'll all probably say you're gay now. Not just anyone says no in that situation, Johnny. It took guts."

John winced, both at his words and at the slight pain in his ankle. Scott was right of course, but that wasn't really anything new. Talking to girls was far more difficult for him than any of his other brothers, and it had gained him something of a reputation. This would feed the fire, but he could deal with that.

An ominous creek overhead had them both freezing in place, but when no other sound followed John released the breath he was holding and stared hard at his older brother. "When are you going to tell Dad?"

His older brother blinked a couple of times before gently ruffling John's hair. "You know what? I think that Dad doesn't need to know about this one."

"What? But…but…I…."

"You didn't do it on purpose, Johnny." Scott shrugged, looking over at the wall instead of directly at John. "And it took me twenty minutes to talk Dad into bed by telling him you were responsible enough to come home without any trouble. No need to make us both look bad over something that was an accident, is there?"

John sniffled again, using his bare arm to wipe his slightly running nose. "He's gonna want to know about the tree and-and everything."

"Why don't you let me worry about that?" A fond smile from Scott accompanied by a gentle tossling of John's hair. "You're in for a rough morning tomorrow, anyway. I got drunk the first time not long ago, and the hang over the next day was murder."

"Y-you drank?" John's mouth was hanging open, he couldn't help it. He knew Scott had gone to college, but he still wasn't old enough, and he'd never imagined Scott doing anything like that.

His older brother simply laughed. "Of course! I wanted to make new friends, I went to a party, and before I knew it one of them had talked me into trying it. But," and Scott lowered his voice to a conspiring whisper, "I promise I won't make that mistake again. And neither will you, right?"

John nodded weakly, suddenly feeling very tired as his eyes dropped and the adrenaline drained out of his system. "I'm not going to get my clothes back, am I?"

"I'll see what I can do."

He felt Scott's arms slid under his back and knees, pulling him gently into his older brother's arms, and John was too tired to protest; instead lying his head on Scott's chest and simply letting himself be carried. "You're not going to hurt anyone are you, Scott."

"No, spaceman, I promise I'll behave. Let's get you into bed and all set for the morning. Gordon keeps some Gatorade in the fridge, I'm sure he wouldn't mind you borrowing one."

Blond hair shook a bit as he nodded and yawned. No matter how he felt tomorrow, John promised himself, he was going to make sure he spent as much time as possible with Scott. He didn't get to see his older brother nearly enough anymore, and their long late night phone chats just weren't the same. "Thanks."

"Any time, star gazer. Any time."


	3. Interference

**A/N:** I promise these won't ALL be Scott and John centric. Really, I do. I just don't have other ideas for the other boys. So, you know, if anyone has suggestions I'm willing to listen.

In case you're wondering what verse I write well…it's a bit of a hybrid, really. I can tell you I got the ages from my "Complete Book of Thunderbirds". Considering how much it cost me, I would be silly to do anything else.

_**Growing up Thunderbirds**_

_Interference_

_May13__th__, 2056_

* * *

"Family quarrels have a total bitterness unmatched by others. Yet it sometimes happens that they also have a kind of _tang_, a pleasantness beneath the unpleasantness, based on the tacit understanding that this is not for keeps; that any limb you climb out on will still be there later for you to climb back." ~Mignon McLaughlin, _The Neurotic's Notebook_, 1960

* * *

"You know," Scott said simply, unable to tear his eyes away from the thin trails of something that might be smoke coming out of the front of the car, "I just realized this probably wasn't our best idea."

For his part, John simply groaned from where he was sitting on the rock that the front of the car was crashed into. Scott peeked over, making sure that John was still putting pressure on the cut to his forehead using Scott's jacket. He was, and from the look of it the blood flow was slowing. Not for the first time, Scott tried to remember that head wounds nearly always looked worse than they were.

In retrospect, it really hadn't been a good idea to borrow Dad's car keys, drive out to the middle of nowhere, and force his younger brother into the driver's seat. But that had only occurred to the oldest Tracy when Johnny, in his typical sweet natured way, had panicked at the sight of a squirrel in the road and swerved directly into a rock.

When Scott had decided to grab the keys and John, it had been because Jeff had broken his promise. He had told John they would go driving together this weekend, so he wouldn't be going into driver's education completely blind, but an emergency meeting at the office had pulled their father away.

As usual John hadn't shown his disappointment to his father, but Scott had seen the way his younger brother's shoulders slumped and the downcast turn of his eyes. That's when he'd made up his mind as to how he was going to spend his Saturday. After all, all John needed was a licensed driver in the car and Scott had one.

Now Scott could see very well that it wasn't at all the only thing John needed. And forgetting his phone probably also hadn't been the best idea. If he ever got the image out of his head of John being flung around like a rag doll by the airbag, it would be a miracle.

John lifted his head, Scott's black jacket still held against the cut across his forehead. "Dad is going to kill us."

"No, you'll get off with a lecture. I, however, am most certainly dead." He could already hear his father going on about how his brothers looked up for leadership and protection. How he had put John, and himself, in serious danger. There was no way he was going to escape this. He'd be grounded for the rest of his life, and never drive again.

"It could be worse," Scott said loudly, more to convince himself than John. "We could have totaled the van."

"How on earth would that be worse than Dad's corvette?" John gestured helplessly at the red Chevy, its hood crunched in quite dramatically around the granite boulder John was sitting on. The rock, for its part, was part of someone's landscape in the front yard of some extremely old Victorian home. Scot had already checked, and either they weren't home or didn't want to deal with the teenage troublemakers in their yard.

"If we totaled the van, Dad couldn't take us all to school," the eldest Tracy explained calmly. "In that case, we'd have Virge, Gord, and Allie angry with us."

Though an attempt to make his little brother laugh, John instead just continued to stare dismally at the smoking remains of their father's prized antique car. "I knew I was going to screw this up."

"No, Johnny."

"John."

Of course. He'd forgotten John had recently decided that Johnny wasn't grown up enough for him. Scott had been a little surprised that it took his brother so long, actually. Both Virgil and Gordon had insisted that 'Virgie' and 'Gordie' were baby names by the time they were ten, and had taken up refusing to answer to them. Probably it was because John didn't like to correct people, and it had been easier to just leave things as they were. Until now, when all of the sudden he'd started trying to change it.

Scott bit his lip, trying to find the words of comfort his brother obviously needed. John had pleaded with Scott to change his mind, insisting that it wasn't that big a deal if he didn't get to learn that day, but the eldest Tracy had refused to hear that John's obvious disappointment was nothing. Seeing that their father had taken Scott's usual vehicle—a bright blue Jeep Rubicon that he loved to drive—was almost enough to change Scott's mind. Until he'd decided they could take the corvette, as the van was surprisingly difficult to drive, and their father wouldn't be any the wiser. After all, Scott hadn't crashed even once while learning to drive, why would John?

He had fallen, it seemed, into the same trap as so many of their teachers; into the pit fall of thinking that John was a second Scott Malcolm Tracy. The reality was that the two of them were as different as it was possible to be. Scott would watch any sport that was fast paced and competitive, and John would only watch gymnastics for anything resembling a sport. Both were good in school, but where Scott was decent in math and really shone more in his shop classes, John was brilliant in computer and language classes. Scott ate double bacon cheese burgers, John salads. Where Scott would trust the brakes and his own skills to save that squirrel, John would rather avoid and evade whenever he could.

Wincing a bit at his stiff muscles, Scott walked over and put a hand on his brother's thinner shoulder. "Listen to me, Johnny. John." Scott smiled wryly as the blond shut his mouth to cut off the nearly automatic correction. "This isn't your fault, okay? We're going to tell Father the truth—that this was all my idea."

"You make that sound like I had no choice." John winced, the volume of his own voice probably triggering the stab of pain. "I could have refused, you know."

"I would have carried you to the car."

"You could not."

He was half tempted to march over and prove to John that yes, he really could have, although he decided against it. He expected this kind of resistance from Virgil, the champion of fairness, but not John, who was usually keen on avoiding getting on anyone's bad side for any reason.

Then again, John had been acting peculiar for a few weeks now. Ever since Scott's birthday, in fact. Scott's frown deepened as he eyed his younger brother up and down. Could his turning 17 have something to do with John's insistence on being treated like a grown up now? His insistence that he was no longer Johnny and that he needed to learn to drive?

All evidence pointed to yes.

"I don't need you to look after me anymore." Not John's most convincing argument, as he was pouting and had a jacket tied around his head. And Scott was losing patience with the contradiction.

"Look, if you really want to get your ass chewed out, that's fine by me. I was just offering mercy, but you know, whatever, I'm doing you a favor, Johnny, and…"

"John."

"And cut that out. Makes you sound more like a child than Johnny ever will."

John's blue eyes narrowed, and something dangerous flashed in them. Scott knew he was going about this all wrong. Angering into a reaction, an explanation, worked for Gordon and Alan, even Virgil to some extent, but John would only shut down and stew in his anger for days. It was hard to really get John angry, but once done there was no going back.

Closing his eyes, Scott tried to latch on to the last threads of his swiftly unraveling patience. So, John wanted to grow up. He'd be 16 in only a handful of months, it was really only natural for him to stretch his wings a bit. It shouldn't rattle Scott nearly as much as it was. He was just stressed from the day.

"We need a plan of attack," Scott decided. "My phone is home, and yours is dead. We need to call the police, I think, and probably get your head looked at, before we can go home."

"The police?" John had gone very pale, and for a moment Scott was terrified his brother had gone into delayed shock. "They'll call father, won't they."

"Probably." Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, John, I know you don't want it, but maybe we should say I was driving. You're not on the insurance yet, you could get in serious trouble."

His little brother suddenly jumping to his feet startled Scott so badly he nearly fell over. "Damn it, Scott, why do you always have to do this?" His little brother swayed slightly and Scott reached out to help him stay upright only to be shrugged off.

John gestured helplessly around them, like it would explain what he was trying to say. "I don't know what to do, and you have my back. What am I supposed to do when you're not here?"

That was what he was worried about? "Come on, John, you know I'm always going to be here."

"Don't give me that shit." John's voice came out little more than a hiss, startling Scott for the second time in as many minutes. "You won't be. You're graduating next year, and you'll leave, and eventually you'll leave me, too."

Taken a back, Scott could only stare silently at his shivering little brother for several long moments. There was no need for John to say who he meant. It was still only two years since their mother's death, a wound that was raw for all of them but seemed more so for John at the oddest times.

Head hanging down, John was watching his feet, and Scott couldn't decide how to help him at all. What did he say to any of this? It wasn't like he could promise he wouldn't die, though he had no intention to, and it was true that he did intend to leave for college the next year.

John's voice interrupted his thoughts. "She promised she'd teach me to drive."

Any residual frustration immediately fled, and Scott pulled John into a tight hug. There weren't really words of comfort for this, although the eldest brother wished he had some. No way he could say anything to make this better. No tears or sobs from John, but this time at least he didn't pull away and let himself be held for a little while.

When he finally pulled away, John looked to be a little more in control, and he sat back down on the rock with only a small sigh.

For his part, Scott remained standing and he swallowed heavily before he managed to speak. "You're right. I can't say I'm going to be here for you always. I am going away to school next year. But you can always call me, John. I'm not going to just abandon you."

"It isn't that." A shrug from John, who suddenly struck Scott as looking very young in the hand me down hoodie and jeans he was wearing. The clothes he inherited from Scott never did fit his little brother right. "They're going to be looking up to me next year. Virgil and the other two, they're going to expect me to know what's going on. But I don't have a clue half the time. I can't be you."

"But you don't need to be." He could, almost, see now what John was so worried about. He was right that their younger brothers were going to be looking up and depending on him more, but it wasn't like John would let them down. John was incredibly good at finding answers. "You'll do just fine as you. And I'll only be a phone call away. Any time, all you have to do is call me and I'll pick up. I can promise that."

A nod from John, small though it was, and his hand returned to putting pressure on the wound. "I know, it's just…"

"I know." And he did, although he didn't really know the word for it. "I'm scared too. Although, it'll be completely moot if Dad ends up killing us both. Then, this will be Virgil's problem."

To Scott's delight, John laughed. It wasn't more than a short burst of a spontaneous amusement, but it counted, and suddenly John looked a lot better than he had. "Thanks, Scott."

Scott nodded, turning back to the car. They really did need to call the police, he was pretty sure of that. Even though no other car had been involved, the damage to their Dad's corvette was pretty extensive. Yes, this was so going to be Virgil's problem pretty quickly.

"Hey, Scott?"

"Yeah."

"You…and just you…can call me Johnny."


	4. Fairy

**A/N:** Did I just covertly turn Johnny into Donatello? Why yes, I think I did. Since they're so similar (in the 2k3 Ninja Turtles fandom anyway) it seemed like a natural leap. Besides, if he wasn't so good with machines and languages, why keep him up there on Thunderbird 5 so often anyway. Right? Right.

Speaking of Ninja Turtles, this is inspired by perhaps one of my very favorite TMNT fics of all time: "To the Rescue" by Tori Angeli. Go, minions. Find it, read it, and laugh yourselves sick. Then come back here and snicker at my pathetic attempt of a tribute.

This is awkward, short, and plot-less. Hope you manage to enjoy it anyway.

_**Growing Up Thunderbirds**_

_Fairy_

_November 7__th__, 2054_

* * *

All for one and one for all  
My brother and my friend  
What fun we have  
The time we share  
Brothers 'til the end.  
~Author Unknown

* * *

Up, X, over, B, B, X, up…Virgil was less that sure why he was doing this at all, as his fingers mashed down buttons without a second thought. John was the one who found all these old game systems and fixed them up, and John was the one who scoured the corners of the internet and antique stores to find the games to play on them. He insisted the quality of the stories was far more important than the graphics of the game, and would play them for hours.

So why on earth he wasn't the one trying to get Alan through this cursed water temple, the middle Tracy son had no idea. For that matter, why Alan wasn't here watching him when he inevitably started the game over so he could do it himself, Virgil couldn't say. He'd mentioned something about wanting lunch, and then promptly disappeared.

To make matters worse, Gordon had settled himself on the far end of their grey couch to watch Virgil's repeated, and somewhat humiliating, defeats at the hands of the…well, insides of a giant fish. Gordon's repeated giggling every time Virgil dropped the fishy-Princess was less than helpful. He seemed to be getting some sort of twisted pleasure out of it. Which Virgil could almost understand, as she was quite obnoxious but she was just a little girl. A small white and blue scaly girl with webbed feet, to be sure, but still a little girl. So, why Gordon found it so hilarious every time he let her fall to her death and Virgil had to go back and get her, he didn't know.

"Ours is not to reason why," Virgil muttered to himself, "ours is but to do and die."

"Mostly die," his red-headed younger brother added cheerfully. "You are much to morbid for Zelda, Virg."

For a moment, Virgil was tempted to reach over and smack him. Only a sharp reminder that Scott and John were one room over, working on the book report for their advanced English class that Scott had forgotten stopped him. They would relish the excuse to leave their work that Gordon's cry would no doubt give them.

Holding the controller out to his younger brother, Virgil gave it a small shake to get Gordon's attention. "If you think you can do better, by all means, feel free."

"Like I told Alan." Gordon tossed one of the M&Ms in his hand up into the air, catching it with his mouth before finishing his statement. "I don't play anything older than 3D."

"Particularly things that involve naked fish girls?"

"Ha ha, suddenly Virgil is a comedian as well as an artist."

"But it's water." The whine crept into Virgil's voice, but he didn't really care, because he really didn't want to be doing this. "You'd be a natural at this."

"Do you see swimming? I don't. Besides, it isn't about my skill it's about," Gordon paused in his wild gesturing at the small green man on the screen to scrunch up his freckled nose in momentary confusion. "What did Alan name it this time?"

"I think its Lion-O. John showed him some new old series he found." Virgil shrugged, hitting the pause button as he was knocked back and once again dropped the princess. "I don't know why he insists on starting this stupid game over every time he finds something new he likes."

"You should see what he does to his Pokémon. I say it's ADD."

"No, that's you."

"Says the guy working on five different paintings."

"That's not ADD, that's a finicky muse." Gordon smirked, and Virgil sighed before flopping back onto the couch. There was no arguing with Gordon when he'd made up his mind like this. Starting the game again, Virgil started making his way down the inside of the whale again.

"Wouldn't it be much easier to kill the things and then go get her?"

"Yeah, but they come back when the door closes."

"John always manages to do this in one go."

"Yeah, well, that's why John spends half his day at the high school with Scott and I don't." Although, Virgil reminded himself, they were in the same math class. If this game had involved any kind of algebra, Virgil was certain he could have gotten Alan passed this already.

"He actually uses that little fairy thing." And Gordon gestured at the blinking little icon at the top of the screen.

Virgil rolled his eyes, grabbing the little Princess again so he could try to head across to the boss once again. "She is the only thing in the world more obnoxious than you."

Gordon laughed aloud at that, tossing another M&M into his mouth. "That was a good one. You been practicing?"

Despite himself, Virgil smiled a little as they started off again. Gordon's amusement was nearly always contagious. It was his mixed gift and curse.

His eleven-year-old brother flopped over, somehow managing to take up every part of the couch Virgil wasn't already occupying. "So, what kind of a girl jumps into a giant fish on purpose?"

"You're kind. The kind that's half fish."

Gordon's response was accompanied by a green M&M being bounced off Virgil's head. "No, serious question. What do you think she was doing in there? Did she miss her mother or something?"

It was almost a thoughtless reaction to pause the game again, but Virgil didn't feel like he could move. It would have been a year in a couple of weeks, and though Gordon had said that in such an off-hand way Virgil knew Gordon had been thinking of her too.

Because he had been wrong before. John wasn't the only one that loved late twentieth century movies, music, and games. Their mother had too. She and John had spent hours scouring junk yards and pawn shops, then more time together in the garage fixing them up. When their father was in outer space, all the boys used to sit and watch Lucille play for hours, or taking turns playing games themselves. It was why Alan had dug out the old system, and why Virgil had agreed to get him through one of the most difficult levels.

And Gordon had seen it all, even when Virgil hadn't, and had sat with him for the same reasons.

With slightly trembling hands, Virgil started the game once again. "It's hard to say. I find it hard to imagine she could feel close to anything but a cold inside a giant fish."

A small snicker of appreciation from Gordon, and a handful of M&Ms crossed the bottom of Virgil's vision. "She could have been avoiding an engagement she didn't want."

Virgil popped one of the offered candies into his mouth. "And forcing poor…Lion-o…here into one he doesn't want? Hardly seems fair." A few more buttons and he finally managed to make his way across the room.

"All's fair in love and war."

"You have no idea where that is from."

"Ours is not to reason why?"

"Tennyson. Charge of the Light Brigade."

"You are such a geek, Virgil."

Virgil shrugged, tossing the little fish girl up onto the platform when she asked. To his horror, the thing rose and carried the girl with it as some creature made of blades and eyes dropped down onto the floor.

"Now, this one takes John at least an hour to manage." The grin was audible in Gordon's voice.

"Well, crap."


	5. Expectations

**A/N:** Just got back from camping and as such, you guys have two stories sitting in my notebook that have to do with camping. As I love this one and the other one contains a (legal) soaking wet John for Teobi, I'm hoping you could forgive me for the reuse of setting.

Awkward ending is awkward, but I'm sure we'll revisit the topic for more resolution at a later date. Perhaps even in the other camping story, as it isn't finished yet. After all, it didn't seem realistic to me that something so complicated could be so easily solved. That isn't real emotion. Just saying.

_**Growing-up Thunderbirds**_

_Expectation_

_July 25__th__, 2052_

* * *

"It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea." ~Dylan Thomas

* * *

The campground was unusually quiet, and Lucille Tracy was determined to enjoy it. With five active boys, it was rare there was a moment of peace for the whole mountain, never mind even a small one for herself. They had gotten there on Monday and in the four days since her boys had already disturbed the little campground four times.

The first had been a break-neck bike race, and the seconded had been Jeff dragging them around to apologize to everyone. Three had been Alan's excited chase through half the camps in his determination to capture a squirrel, heedless of paths or property, with his older brothers chasing after him. Another round of apologies had then been made, bringing the total up to four.

Actually, Lucille considered only two mild misadventures and their combined restitution a resounding success. It averaged out to only one a day, and if they had made it that far it was likely they could go from Thursday to Saturday without any deaths or grand catastrophe. That was always a good thing.

Lucille glanced up from where she was cutting the crusts off one very plain cheese sandwich, for the small blond owner was a very particular eater of eight-years, to survey their peaceful site. The matriarch of this small band was pleased to hear a pair of soft snores from tent, where her husband aforementioned eight-year-old Alan were taking a pleasant afternoon nap. Scott and Gordon, the two most energetic of her sons, had declared they were going around the lake just down the road for a nature walk. As Scott was thirteen and had a particular knack of only participating in trouble by trying to stop it, she had consented. The pair had packed snacks and water bottles, somehow harassing their quiet brother, John, away from his new science-fiction book and into tagging along, then promptly setting off with promises all around that they would be back in time for lunch. They were a little late, but Lucy would forgive them as she was fairly certain Gordon's nine-year-old legs would struggle to keep pace with his willing heart.

This left only one son awake and present in camp, and Virgil was completely absorbed in whatever he was sketching. Lucille never peeked into her young artist's sketchbook unless her soon to be eleven-year-old son asked her to, so all she knew of the current masterpiece in progress was that it required an awful lot of smearing of pencil. The pint-sized Picasso had a smudge of charcoal all the way down the right side of his nose, and his mother had not the heart to tell him it was there.

She realized, only to well how soon the days of absent-minded charcoal faces, afternoon naps, and late for lunch play would fade. Already Scott had reached his teens, and had insisted on helping set up the camp instead of joining his brothers in a game of hide-and-seek, and he'd refused to let her kiss better the scrapes he'd gotten while chasing his brothers during their race; John had followed his example.

Her heart ached to know that her rowdy dirty faced boys were fast on the path of becoming men, and she wanted to enjoy the smudges while they lasted.

"I hope that isn't a portrait of me, Virgil." Lucille laughed, and she gestured from the short blonde hair currently tied in a messy ponytail to her laughing blue eyes, then ratty t-shirt, jeans, and well worn tennis shoes with the hand not hold the knife. "I'm not exactly in a fit state for it right now."

"I think you look beautiful, Mama," Virgil grinned at her in his usual disarming way, reminding Lucille how certain she was that her middle son was going to be quite the charmer of females when he was old enough.

She walked around to kiss his head, which Virgil accepted with only a small flinch of reluctance. "Thank you, that's very kind, although I dare say you may be biased in my favor."

To this she received but a half of a shrug as keen brown eyes returned to paper. "You have a lovely face, and always will."

Lucille was tempted to kiss the young flatterer again, but decided to spare him what he no doubt found an inevitable embarrassment and satisfied herself with a squeeze of his shoulder before returning to her work. This seemed to please her own starving artist, as she was rewarded with a second relaxed grin before the dark head stooped to work again.

Now, then, she had Jeff's sandwich done, and Alan's finished. She probably should do Virgil's since he was here, and then could take a stab at what the other three wanted if they had not returned by then.

"What would you like, my young Michelangelo?" No response to her usual pet name and Lucille glanced up to find him staring into the distance. "Virgil?"

The young boy simply frowned, his young forehead crinkling as he continued to stare hard at something. "I think that might be John."

"What? Where?"

Virgil pointed, to her surprise and horror, to the top of a tree some distance away. A blue and white speck was nearing the top that may very well have been boy shaped. Snatching Jeff's binoculars off the table, she whirled them in the proper direction. Sure enough, with them she could make out John's head of white-blond hair and Jeff's navy blue NASA windbreaker her second eldest son insisted on wearing everywhere. He was seated rather precariously on two small branches nearly a story up, and seemed to be contemplating how to get even higher.

For several seconds, she was sure her heart stopped altogether as John leaped, and caught two even branches as she had seen him do the rings many times at gymnastics competitions before the young boy hauled himself up and balanced carefully between the two.

Lucille all but threw the binoculars on the table as she raced down the path. She heard Virgil yell something after her, but she did not care to stop and discover what it had been. Instead, her terror fueled heart gave wings to her feet, allowing her to cover the distance to her endangered child in minutes.

She heard Scott calling up before she saw them. "Okay, Johnny, Gordon and I are very impressed. You can come down now."

"Don't listen to him, John, keep going."

The path turned just in time to reveal Scott giving his red headed brother a sharp flick on the ear. "Will you stop encouraging him? It's your fault he's up there in the first place."

Normally, Lucille would have paused to remind Scott that it was not his responsibility to punish his brothers, but that would have to wait. Instead, she used what breath she had to call up the massive pine, "John Glenn Tracy, you get down here this instant!"

Scott and Gordon whirled to face her, identical expressions of surprise on their young faces, while the small figure over head jumped and very nearly lost his hold on the trunk he had been attempting to shimmy up.

John may have said something, but he wasn't loud enough to hear. As he started rapidly descending like he was half-squirrel, she decided to leave him alone until both his feet were firmly on the ground. Keeping one eye on his progress, she turned her attention to the guilty looking Gordon and horrified Scott.

"Mom, we…"

Lucille held up her hand and Scott trailed off, his blue eyes nothing short of terrified. Though not above discipline her sons, such things she usually left to Jeff as he knew best how to handle them. However, when need was truly dire or time short, as now, the boys knew they would have her to deal with and that was far worse Jeff.

"Both of you, march yourselves back to camp. You sit there at the table and do not speak until I come to get you. Understand?"

Scott nodded mutely, grabbing Gordon by the backpack and tugging him back toward the tents. This was, in truth, more for John's benefit than any punishment to his brothers. Nothing, she knew, upset John more than being in trouble, unless it involved being yelled at in front of his brothers. Though she was displeased at the behavior her usually reserved son was displaying, that wasn't any excuse to humiliate him in the worst possible way.

John landed in the only way he knew how, with a small flip, feet together and arms going over his head once he was stable. It would have been a beautiful landing if he hadn't just done a back flip off a branch some seven feet in the air.

Taking the presented opportunity, Lucille seized her eleven-year-old son by the shoulders and gave him a good hard shake that rattled his teeth. "What on earth were you thinking, climbing up there? Don't you have any idea how dangerous that was? What if Alan saw you?"

Wide blue eyes stared up at her, obviously startled and a little dismayed. As well he should be. John wasn't her usual trouble maker, often staying out of his brothers' antics and absorbed in his book, and she would have been far less upset had this not been the second time since this trip that he had been the instigator of a problem, as the bike race had been his doing as well.

It was uncharacteristic for her usually withdrawn son, and concerned almost more than either the race or tree climbing alone had.

"Al couldn't even reach the bottom branches. I had it under control, Mom." John was blinking at her repeatedly, obviously trying to seem less startled than he really was. It was incredibly rare that Lucille spoke to her sons harshly, and even more so that she touch them in anger.

She hoped it was more effective for it. "You were almost sixty feet in the air, John, and those branches were bending to hold you. What do you think would have happened as you went higher?"

"I knew what I was doing." For a moment, the boy looked just like his father as stormy-blue grey eyes flashed and his jaw locked in defiance. "The branches bend as long as I stayed on living ones. I was fine."

"No, you weren't." She felt like shaking him again, but this time stayed her hand and took a deep breath. "I don't understand this, John. This isn't like you. You know better than to take risks like that, or put your brothers in danger."

This time she got a more usual John reaction as he retreated, dropping his eyes to his feet to hide the sudden pained expression that crossed his face. Nothing was more important to her tender hearted boy than his brothers and their safety, and he took his responsibility as their older brother nearly as seriously as Scott. "They weren't in danger. Gordon thought it was fun."

It was the same response she and Jeff had received when asked what had possessed the three participating boys—Alan, Gordon, and John as Virgil wasn't interested and Scott only chasing to get them to stop —to race down the paved campsite roads at such a reckless pace until John and Scott had fallen head long into a bush. That Gordon and Alan hadn't been in danger; that he had had everything under control and they were having fun. It didn't sound at all like her boy who usually carried a first aid kit in the backpack he took everywhere, and kept water purifying capsules in his jacket pocket because you never knew when you might need them.

"Gordon is nine-years-old, and you are nearly twelve. Scott could see the danger, why didn't you?" And she wanted to ask why he, who usually backed his older brother up on everything, had taken to not listening to him as late.

The answer came, rather suddenly, from wounded boyish pride as tempestuous eyes looked up her with barely controlled tears. "Well, Scott doesn't have to prove to anyone that he isn't a sissy."

Startled herself, Lucy dropped down so she was nearly eye level with her son. "Nobody thinks you're a sissy, Johnny…"

"Gordon does. And Virgil, and probably Alan, and Dad, too, and everyone at school." A single tear escaped the still childish defenses, but was wiped away furiously on the back of a navy sleeve and then blue eyes glared at the damp spot as if it had completely betrayed him. "Gordon said he was sure Scott could climb it, but I couldn't because I'm not strong like he is. But I could, and I did."

"John…" So, that's what this was about. Though only eighteen-months younger than his eldest brother, he second son was far smaller and lighter than his older brother, and in fact several inches shorter than Virgil. There was no doubt that he was small for his age, and while not worryingly so Lucille knew it to be a sore spot with her son. John had the great misfortune, as well as blessing, of having Scott as an older brother.

Though she may have been biased, Lucille felt justified in saying that Scott was a model of nearly everything. Not perfect, certainly, but a good student who genuinely enjoyed school, popular with many of his classmates for his accepting charm, and a gifted athlete who worked hard to excel in addition to his talent on the football field. Though only yet in middle school, his mother had no doubt that he would only continue to do better in all departments, with more acclaim, once he began high school in a couple of years.

Those were the shoes that John, following so close behind, was expected to fill by nearly everyone around him. John was brilliant, a genius even, but he did not have Scott's ease with his peers or leadership abilities, and though he loved his gymnastics classes he could rarely be convinced to compete and there was no school team. Her shy son struggled to make friends, stuttering when asked to speak in front of the class, and never sure what to say when talked to by someone he did not know well. If Scott or Virgil was there, John would always allow them to speak why he stared around with lost eyes.

Next to Scott he seemed but a pale shadow, and this was only aggravated by the fact that he and Virgil were in the same grade. John had been reluctant to start school, and had cried himself sick his first day of kindergarten. She had decided that perhaps her shy son should wait a year, so he would be the oldest in his grade instead of one of the youngest, and Jeff had reluctantly agreed. At the time it had seemed the best thing for him, as the crowds of school were much easier to handle with one of his brothers by his side.

But Virgil, too, though different from Scott was well liked. A serious and studious little soul though he was, Virgil was at ease with people. An excellent listener and eager to please, Virgil made friends with nearly everyone he came in contact with by simply being there. And though her artistic son would never tolerate anyone talking about his 'weird older brother' in his hearing, Lucille had more than once heard conversations about how odd her second eldest son was coming from Virgil and Scott's room when the owners had stepped out to retrieve snacks for their guests.

And she knew that John had heard them as well. Had sat outside during teacher conferences when the teachers had raved about his brilliant school work but expressed concern about his reserved nature and how little he would play with other children. That, if he could be a little more like Scott or Virgil then perhaps he would be more normal. Even Jeff had been known to carelessly, if with good intentions, joke with John about how he was so unlike his brothers that he must have been an alien snuck aboard his ship from the moon. Though Lucille herself had scolded them for their indiscretion, and often reminded Jeff that John wasn't Scott or Gordon and his teasing could hurt his feelings, it wouldn't change what her boy had heard and knew that people viewed him as not belonging.

Such thoughts hurt enough from adults or his peers, but Lucille knew John and knew that a sentiment along those lines from one of his beloved brothers would tear his gentle soul to pieces. Even though she very much doubted that Gordon had intended to upset his brother in anyway, a talking to about how words have many layers of meaning was going to have to happen.

John shrugged off the hand she'd put on his shoulder, straightening in a way that again reminded her of his father. The two were so very alike, but neither seemed to understand the other in the slightest. It was a concern for the young mother, and one she hoped she could find a way to minimize in the future.

"I know I shouldn't let him get to me," John muttered quietly, pausing to get a trembling lip under control. "I just want him to like me. I thought if I could show him that I can win races and climb trees too…" He didn't finish the thought, but then there wasn't really need.

"Gordon loves you. I know it's hard to remember sometimes, but he really does. After all, it isn't Scott he asks for help with his spelling, is it?"

Slowly, John shook his head, though there was still a wary look on his face.

"And it isn't Scott or Virgil that he pesters to play go fish with him for hours on end either, right?"

Again John shook his head, and this time he swallowed as if to say something but then thought better of it as a tiny smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

"I know how hard it is for you, John," and Lucille offered the most comforting smile she could muster, thinking of all the students she'd seen go out of their way to avoid walking too close to the gentlest soul they would ever have the honor to meet, and how much she pitied them the missed opportunity. "But your brothers, all of them, are always going to watch out for you. Including Gordon, no matter how frustrating he can be."

"I guess if he gets too bad, I could always just let Scott strangle him like he keeps saying he will." And John smiled, though it was a bit sarcastic. Lucille smiled too, though hers was more of fond exasperation. Of all her boys, Scott and Gordon were probably the most alike and seemed to take being best friends and hating each other by turns. When there was a fight among her boys, it was nearly always Gordon and Scott in the thick of it as their alpha personalities struggled against each other and dragged their brothers in—Alan to back up Gordon, Virgil for Scott, and John attempting to keep the peace.

Usually.

"John, I need you to promise me that you won't let Gordon do this to you anymore." She reached out a hand, letting rest against a still young and venerable face. "You're his big brother, I need you to be an example for him, and show him that you're strong where it really matters—how smart and dependable you are so he knows he can count on you. Promise me?"

"I promise."

She wanted to say more, struggling to find a way to express her disappointment in his decision while acknowledging the real feelings behind it, but was interrupted by the tramping of feet down the path. Turning around, she saw Jeff stumbling down the path toward her, still trying to get his boots on, while Alan and Virgil tagging along behind.

"What's wrong, Lucy? Virgil woke me up; he said something was going on with John. Scott and Gordon wouldn't tell me anything except that you told them not to speak."

Perhaps that last order had been a bit of a mistake, in retrospect.

Jeff frowned over at the boy in question, and instantly John shrunk away shyly. Her husband only ever meant well, and loved each of their sons with all his heart, Lucille knew just how little he knew what to do with John. Often, because he expected so much of their brilliant child, Jeff could be quite hard on him, hoping that his challenges would spur John into action like they did his older brother, but in reality it often had quite the opposite effect. Judging from his less than stellar mood at being woken up from his map, it would likely not be the best idea to let him in the conversation now. Later, when he was more clear headed, they would talk.

She smiled at him, getting up to wrap her arms around his chest. "It's nothing, Jeff, I over reacted. John and I talked, and everything is fine now. We were just on our way back."

A confused look from three sets of brown eyes, but Jeff simply shrugged and ran a hand through already tousled brown hair. "You sure that everything is alright here?"

"Of course. We can all talk after lunch. Full tummies make for better conversation anyway, don't you think?" She motioned behind her for John, and the boy ran over to snatch her hand. It was a comfort to know that while he was trying so hard to become a man, her little John was still there and needed her yet. "I've got a ham sandwich with your name on it."

To this, Jeff smiled and took the hand John had not claimed as his own. "You spoil us, Lucy-girl."

"Well, I try. It isn't easy to please six boys you know, but I think some s'mores after dinner would go a long way to help, don't you?"


	6. Upgrade

**A/N:** More Scott and John stuff, because it always amuses me. I needed to write a Thanksgiving story for once, and as I'm already a few days late and we just aren't going to get any better despite my attempts to make it, this is going up now. I hope you guys manage to enjoy it.

_**Growing Up Thunderbirds  
**__Upgrade  
__November 26th, 2054_

* * *

Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence. ~Erma Bombeck

* * *

That was definitely smoke coming from the kitchen, and John had been in the kitchen non-stop, to Scott's knowledge, since six o'clock that morning. While this was not, necessarily, concerning well…Scott was concerned. Because John didn't normally volunteer to do much in the kitchen, had never banished them all from it before, and anytime smoke and John were involved something generally blew up soon afterward. There was also a strange smell that Scott couldn't quite place but he thought shouldn't be in the house really.

A quick glance at his three younger brothers assured Scott that they would be alright. They'd given up feigning interest in the Thanksgiving Day Parade at some point after all the balloons of cartoon characters Alan could actually name had gone past and instead had decided to dig out one of John's old video game systems for a virtual football game with Virgil and a computer taking on Gordon and Alan. This was in Virgil's favor, actually, as Gordon and Alan would inevitably end up with several delay of game penalties when they could not agree what to do.

Why they were doing this now when the four of them would play for real in the afternoon—just before Scott's Kansas City Chiefs took on the Oakland Raiders in a game that promised to be good—Scott wasn't sure. More than likely it was to distract themselves from the distinct lack of anything Thanksgiving around the house.

There were very complicated reasons for this. First and foremost, although nobody wanted to admit it, was because nobody really felt like doing the sit down and be a family thing. One year ago they had lost their mother less than a week before. He had been sitting with his Grandmother calling family members and trying to remember if his mom had ever mentioned her favorite flower, and his father had been at the hospital deciding whether or not to admit John into psychiatric care because he wouldn't talk or respond to anyone voluntarily.

It had not been the happiest of holidays, as even by Christmas John had been still recovering from his injuries and responding only listlessly and every single one of them missed their mother terribly. A year later, the wound was still raw and no one really wanted to poke at it by trying to celebrate their mother's favorite time of year without her. The only person who might have tried was Grandma, but she and their father were currently grounded by a snow storm back in New York, where Jeff had taken her to visit friends, and it didn't look like any flights would be leaving for at least another day.

This was the second reason. Without Grandma the best they usually ate was spaghetti and canned sauce, and without Dad if they managed more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they were golden. The thought of trying something as complicated as Thanksgiving dinner was overwhelming all by itself, and not a one of them would have had any idea where to start.

At least, that's what Scott had thought, and had assumed all of his brothers had agreed without saying so. Agreed that they were going to have Thanksgiving by playing football and making sandwiches from pre-sliced turkey and a can of cranberry sauce, nothing more than that.

Apparently, John hadn't.

There was a pile of mush that might, possibly, have once been cranberries but were now a blackened mess that filled the house full of the smell of burnt sugar, which Scott could now place as the mysterious smell as well as the likely source of the smoke. The stuffing was a lumpy soggy mess that was only partly coated in some kind of oil and spice mixture that smelt far too strongly of salt.

There were potatoes John had tried to mash, but they must not have been cooked all the way through because they were a lumpy mess of fragments instead of the creamy garlic they were supposed to be. To top it all off, the turkey obviously was not going to fit in their tiny stacked oven. Maybe it would, if it were put it on a cookie sheet, but even Scott knew that it needed to go on a pan of some kind that would let it drip. It also needed butter and Grandma always tied its legs too which it looked like John had tried to do but the knot was slipping terribly.

John scrubbed one hand across his face, but the sleeve of his black hoodie was too long and simply smeared the mixture of potato flakes and butter across his cheek with the scratchy black fabric. He glared at his laptop, sitting pristinely on the far side of the island by Gordon and Alan's stools, like it was somehow to blame for all of this. Being this was John, it probably somehow was.

Even from here he could see that John's eyes were just a bit too bright, and Scott felt his throat clench to look at the heartbreak and frustration there. John had taken to hiding a lot lately, even letting his cowlick grow out to cover the scar on his hairline from the crash and his right eye, and spending hours and hours locked in his room with his telescope and his computer searching for something though he'd never told Scott what. Not since his release from the hospital had Scott ever once seen John grieve or talk about anything that had happened, and it was difficult for Scott to see his brother like that now.

Never one to simply sit back and watch, Scott stepped fully into the kitchen with the small swish of the door, silencing Virgil's whoop of delight with a small movement. "Hey, John?"

Scott had intended to ask his younger brother if he was alright, if he wanted to talk, but instead dashed across the kitchen to stop John from falling to the floor as his little brother jerked in obvious surprise and the stool he'd been sitting on tried to dash out from under him and send the blond sprawling.

One blue eye stared up at him in round surprise, its twin just peeking through pale strands. "What are you, a freaking ninja?"

"Sorry." Scott muttered, using a foot to right John's stool and then pushing him upright again. "I know you told us not to come in here this morning but I thought I should come check on you. What are you doing in here?"

John shrugged in the most noncommittal way he could manage. That was his new favorite way of answering questions he didn't really want to answer, much to John's great annoyance. It worked with most people, because they didn't care all that much about actually getting an answer to the questions they asked just to be polite. Scott was not one of those people, and it irked him to be put in that category.

A frown as Scott wrinkled his nose, looking into the bowl of what John had tried to make cranberry sauce but instead he'd left too long and had burned. "You've made a bit of a mess, haven't you?"

"Your sympathy for my plight is overwhelming."

A cautious fork poke of the stuffing, which didn't crumble so much as melted, before Scott responded. "I thought we weren't going to do this."

"We aren't. I am."

"It's Thanksgiving, Johnny, and there is no 'I' in it."

"There are two, actually."

Scott glanced up, scowling at his younger brother's semi-cheeky grin. "Two 'I's make a 'we', you know. It's a family thing, John. You sure weren't planning on eating all of this yourself."

Scott had him there, he knew it, and John simply shrugged again because there wasn't a good answer for that which didn't involve him admitting he was wrong—a mortal sin in his younger brother's eyes for all he imagined himself a scientist that had to admit when he'd made a mistake to learn from it.

"Did you buy all this stuff yourself?" John didn't have a job, so to speak, but Scott knew he occasionally did computer repair around the neighborhood on top of the allowance the five of them got for keeping their grades up. He hadn't been doing all that well in school lately, though, and Scott didn't doubt that it must have taken a considerable chunk out of his brother's savings. That alone made it seem like he should at least attempt to eat anything that wouldn't flat out kill him. "How did you get it here, anyway?"

"My bike. I took several trips, and stored it in the fridge in the barn." Another shrug from John, although Scott couldn't say for sure what he was shrugging at. "I just thought we…I mean, holidays were always so important before and I…"

All of the sudden, John's gray-blue eyes were swimming again, a thin sheen of tears springing up like Old Faithful. He couldn't seem to finish whatever he was trying to say, and as per his new habit John dropped his face to hide behind his hair.

Scott swallowed, unsure as always what to say. There really was nothing that could be said to ease that ache, and Scott was tired of trying. All that ever seemed to do was make it seem like the hurt they all felt should be fading; that it didn't matter. Like they should be over it, even though none of them were and might never be.

Instead of speaking, Scott walked over and inspected the turkey. He circled it once before leaning down to peer at it. "Do you suppose it would fit in the dryer?"

John blinked, once, than twice. "Dryer? What for?"

"I saw it on an old TV show once. They were cooking a turkey in a dryer because it didn't fit in the oven."

"Did it work?"

"If you count the dryer exploding as working." Scott offered a small half grin. "But then at least we'd know what to get Grandma for Christmas, right?"

John laughed, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. His brother looked much younger than thirteen, suddenly, and Scott could have hugged him but didn't because he knew John never much liked it. Scott settled instead on ruffling blond hair so it stood up all over.

"Thanksgiving isn't about the food you know." Someone had to say it, and Scott figured it might as well be him. After all, there wasn't really a way to salvage any of this that he could see, so the point had to be made.

"I know. I just…it doesn't feel right around here."

Scott didn't have the heart to tell his younger brother that a little cooked turkey wouldn't fill the hole in their house, no matter how much they all wanted it to. Instead, he picked up the pot of potatoes and made a face at the mess. John was right, though, it didn't really feel like the holidays without their mother cheerfully humming as she dashed around throwing up decorations or filled the kitchen with wonderful smells while laughing with Grandma. The house just felt so much more empty without her than the lack of one person should.

He dumped the potatoes in the garbage. "Why don't you come play football with us, Johnny? I know you don't like it, but maybe just this year you can try it? We…I'd really like it if you hung out with us. We've missed you."

More surprised blinking from John, who looked a bit like a startled one eyed white rabbit. "Missed me? I haven't gone anywhere."

How did you explain that it wasn't that he had physically left, but that there had always been walls between them? John had spent so much time up in his room lately, or sitting silently not even pretending to pay attention to what they were saying that he might as well have not even been there. He missed the John that was always coming up with crazy ideas, sitting and really listening to everything that was said. Scott wanted that brother back, and John's attempt to bring them all together for dinner might, maybe, be that brother reaching out. If he could, Scott would reach back.

Borrowing from John's book, Scott shrugged one shoulder at him. "Come and play with us, Johnny, or at least referee. You could even play on Gordon and I's team, if you wanted. Just…just come out and play with us."

"You really are going to play football?" And John half-smiled at him, the best Scott had seen in a while. "There's, like, three feet of snow outside."

"That's what makes it even better. We'll all get cold and soaked, and then come in and make sandwiches and we can play Monopoly and have my game on in the background. It will be fun. What do you say?" Scott willed John to say yes, trying with his eyes to reach into his brother's brain and get him to relent. To have him, even if it was just for one day, seem almost touchable.

Somehow, Scott's pleading must have gotten through as John glanced up only briefly before nodding slowly. "I'll make hot cocoa; we can take it out with us. But I want to be on Virgil and Alan's team. Virgil is a much better blocker than you'll ever be."

He couldn't stop the grin that split his face, and Scott scooped up several bowls from the counter to toss them as well. "You're going to wish he was when I get my hands on your scrawny butt."

"You just try it. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve myself. We're playing backyard rules, right?"

"Anything that doesn't kill you goes? Always."

John grinned, and for a heartbeat Scott questioned the wisdom of his invitation. "Excellent."


End file.
